THREAD: This doc struck a chord with me, and it’s because I started thinking about the person who taught me how to shoot, and how much that simple, repeatable action meant to me as a kid. I’ll never forget it. His name was Kyle Rogers. https://twitter.com/chrisbils/status/1248396838878629891

Mr. Rogers was a fixture in Arlington, Ohio. History teacher, girls basketball coach, father of two children who are unmistakably his. He was tall, lanky and bald as can be. He wore glasses and had a goatee. He loved Bruce Springsteen.

He’d played in high school at Kenton and college ball at Ohio Northern. But to us he was Kevin’s dad, and he taught all of us how to play the game.

This was around first grade, give or take. The school building (K-12) had an old gym and a new gym. As I remember it, a weekend morning was one of the first times our class had stepped on the floor in the new gym — where the varsity teams played.

We were bright-eyed and ready to emulate our favorite players. Mr. Rogers stood in front of us near the free-throw line and slowly explained each step:

Plant your right foot and point it toward the hoop. Bend your knees. Ball in your right hand, you should be able to draw a straight line between your big toe, your knee and your elbow, tucked in at a 90-degree angle. Your left hand should just barely rest on the ball.

Aim at the back iron, and let it fly off your fingertips. He even showed us the way your hand was supposed to look at release, and how it sort of resembled a goose.

For years, every time something was wrong with my shot, I could hear his words. A checklist. How many times have I shot a ball in my life? Thousands. A million? More?

In the winter, I used to shovel the driveway, just so I could shoot. Then the first shot would go up and get stuck in the frozen net. Back to the garage to grab the shovel and whack the ice out of the net. Holes in my gloves, hands cracked and bleeding.

I wasn't quick. Couldn’t think steps ahead of everyone else. But I always had my jump shot.

As a sophomore, I was the sixth man on the junior varsity team. We played Lima Temple Christian at home, and they were in a 2-3 zone defense.

I came off the bench and made a 3. Then another. I ended up making 6 of 7 (all 3s) and scored 18 points in a blowout win.

The following Monday, I showed up to Mr. Rogers’ history class. He opened class like normal, then paused. He stared at me. I stared back at him, no idea what this was about.

“Christopher Bils. Great job, young man. That is how you shoot the ball.” I was so embarrassed to be singled out, but probably didn’t stop grinning for days.

Kyle Rogers died on July 9, 2010 of an apparent heart attack. He was 50. It was less than two months after we graduated high school. Mr. Rogers taught for 28 years, touched so many lives, and taught so many kids the fine art of the jump shot. What a precious gift.